


The Hangover (Drunk Tom Part Two)

by thewritingkoala, Tina0609



Series: Tom & Hanna [6]
Category: Actor RPF, British Actor RPF, Tom Hiddleston Fandom
Genre: Arguing, F/M, Hangover, Kissing, Making Up, Sex, hungover Tom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-09-14 22:31:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16921650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewritingkoala/pseuds/thewritingkoala, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tina0609/pseuds/Tina0609
Summary: The morning after "Drunk Tom Part One" Han has to deal with an hungover, pissy Tom. And he'll make up for it...





	The Hangover (Drunk Tom Part Two)

The first thing she notices when she wakes up hours later is something scratchy against her thigh. Eyes still closed, she wriggles experimentally. Hm, that feels kinda nice. Slowly, she shifts closer while rubbing a hand over her eyes–and stops dead when she hears a sound that she doesn’t even have a name for. A bit like a fatally wounded animal having an asthma attack while simultaneously trying to tear its own heart out.

Hold on, she doesn’t have any cats or dogs living with her.

“Noooooo…” Okay, that sounds more human, but only barely.

She forces her gritty eyes open just in time to see Tom’s hands going to his head, which is very close to where she usually loves to have it–but not when he looks half dead.

“Is the world ending?” comes a scratchy voice.

She tries to pity him. She really does. But she also hasn’t forgotten Tom basically calling her his mom. Well, he compared them.

So, instead of whispering softly, like she would do, if he was ill, she speaks in her normal voice.

“Why? What’s wrong? You hungry?” she smirks.

Okay, she feels a little bad when she hears the gurgling sound he makes.

“Pity me, I’m dead. Dying. Dunno.” He tries to grab at her with his hand, but loses the courage after about ten centimetres. “Oh.”

There’s a shaky inhalation.

“The world really must be ending. It’s spinning. I’m seeing goddamn stars.” Tom’s voice is the oddest mix of pain and utter confusion.

“Stars? Well, you did want to enjoy a bit of stargazing last night. Lying on the livingroom carpet, no less.” She bites back a snigger.

His gaze swivels to her and even that seems to be too much because he screws his eyes tightly shut with a whimper like a kicked puppy dog.

“What DO you remember?” She’s kind of curious now. Half the fun she’s going to have today is reminding him of yesterday night after all.

Tom clears his throat, but stiffens and swallows hard. She’s almost ready to kick him out of the bed, when he slowly exhales.

“Uh. We… yeah.”

She snickers. “Yeah, seems right.”

“Love?” he asks, voice laced with confusion. “I’m… are my feet on the bloody floor? And why am I wearing a… is that… a scarf? Maybe?” Tom seems to be quite unsure.

“It’s your sweater. Around your neck. Yes.”

“Huh.” She can basically see the wheels turning in his head, as he inhales and exhales deeply.

There’s another minute of silence during which she can see his fists clenching and unclenching.

“Did you…erm…don’t kill me…but…did you…slap my ass?!” His voice goes up an octave at the last words and his tightly shut eyes open wide.

With an eye roll, she slaps her hand to her forehead, and even that bit of movement makes Tom wince. “Figures that you remember that of all things. Kinky fucker.”

His face goes through various expressions she wishes she could record, all of them making her want to laugh out loud.

“Currently a dying fucker. Could you maybe show an iota of mercy here, darling? Unless you’re into necro…necro…necrophilia, please help me out–and stop shouting.”

“Mercy?” she asks as she turns fully to her side, juggling the bed a little, which only makes Tom clench his jaw. “If I didn’t have mercy… let me tell you… you’d be asleep on the kitchen floor.”

He swallows. Again. “I thought… the carpet?”

“Oh, there too.”

“I guess I should…probably…thank you? I’d be willing to grovel at your feet and all, but I’m afraid if I move an inch my head will fall off. Surely you don’t want all that icky blood and brain splattered on your bed?”

Brows raised, she stares him down, but she’s not so sure he can see her properly for all the squinting and quiet groaning. Must be a gigantic headache.. Taking a little pity on him, she sits up slowly and softens her tone–somewhat, because she hasn’t forgotten last night’s ordeal.

“I think after having you puke all over my toilet, I won’t mind a bit of blood and brain. Speaking of which, are you sure you didn’t entirely drown those famed grey cells in liquor?”

She moves to slide off the bed, and Tom whines, the sound somewhere between a greedy mosquito and a needy puppy.

“Wait,” he croaks, just as her feet touch the floor. “I don’t puke. I know my… I don’t…” He stops, images probably flashing before his eyes. “Oh, fuck. Oh, I’m sorry.”

He stops again, breathing deeply, and she can only imagine those memories causing his stomach to turn again.

She stands up, standing before him at the foot of the bed now. “And just when I thought, you were properly going to seduce me. What a pity.” She smirks, pulling her sleeping shirt over her head and leaving the room.

“Hey! Wait!” It’s supposed to be a shout, she’s sure, but it comes out as a whine. “Did you show me your breasts? Like, yesterday?”

She turns her head a little to look back in the bedroom. Tom’s eyes are still closed, the eyebrows almost meeting in the middle. But his body hasn’t moved an inch.

She sighs. “I should’ve known boobs would be the only thing getting through to you in this state. They were basically the only thing that made you obey last night, as well. So yeah, that’s a yes.”

Tom swallows thickly, then lifts one eyelid as slowly as if it’s made out of concrete. He squints at her.

“Oh.” His other eye blinks open. “Oh.” When it sends her into a fit of reluctant giggles, he scrunches his face up and shuts his eyes again.

The last thing she hears before walking away is him muttering, “Yup, I’m definitely dead. And in heaven with bare-breasted angels without halos. I. Am. So. Fucked.”

She didn’t think this through, she realises as she heads for the kitchen. She wanted to wait for Tom naked, initially, but thinks better of it. So, instead she pulls the shirt, she still holds in her hand, back on.

It could be hours until he even decides to move, she realises. Would food help? She never experienced such a strong hangover with him.

She decides to prepare coffee first, then grabs for a glass of water and pain medicine. She can’t let him suffer forever, she decides.

* * *

 

Drumming her fingers on the counter, she waits. When there’s still no sign of Tom after some minutes, she’s torn between panicking and running back to see whether he’s slipped and knocked his stupid, hard head on something and yelling for him to haul his ass in.

Before she can do either, there’s the sound of shuffling. Is this what a zombie sounds like when it drags after you to devour the contents of your head?

She clamps a hand over her mouth to muffle her laughter when the moaned-groaned, drawn-out words “coffeeeee, cooooo-ffee” precede Tom’s hunched form. All she can think about is him saying “braaaaains” instead. He’s even lifted one of his hands to occasionally brace himself against the wall while the other is cradling his probably throbbing head.

“It’s aliiiiiiive,” she whisper-shouts, fearing any increase in volume would really cause him to stumble.

“Don’t mock my pain. Coffee. Is there coffee? Please, let there be coffee,” he croaks more than he says.

“I’d never mock your pain, Hiddleston. Never.” But she can’t hold back her laughter. “Should have drank some coffee yesterday, huh? Or maybe water?” she smirks.

“Don’t mention drinking.” He’s almost at the bar stool in her kitchen now (he needed about two minutes for that), and looks torn between trying to heave himself up, and keep standing.

“There IS coffee, by the way,” she answers his previous question. “Want to have breakfast as well?”

“Don’t mention food either. Good lord, woman, have you no mercy?” He looks a bit green around the gills again but miraculously manages to half-hoist, half-slide himself onto the barstool without face-planting.

Bastard, even when he’s in a state like this, he’s kind of, sort of, almost agile.

“I do have mercy, my grumpy adult-sized child,” she says. “Otherwise I’d have kicked you out of bed.”

Deciding enough is enough, she puts a mug of steaming coffee in front of him.

“Careful, it’s ho…” She can’t even finish her warning before he’s downed a fair bit of it, curses and sloshes the rest of the scalding hot liquid over the sweater he’d just managed to wear properly.

“Oh, fuckity-shit-fuck-shitty-fuck!”

She really tries not to laugh, but the curses Tom comes up with make her giggle.

He’s already up from the barstool, faster than she expected. She rounds the counter, grasping at his sweater.

“Here, let me…” She manages to take the sweater off, Tom holding up his arms, jumping from foot to foot, still swearing.

“Oh, this is not good.” He sways a bit again, the sudden movement sure didn’t do any good to his state.

“Are you okay?” she asks, now genuinely concerned. She pats Tom’s upper body, checking for any burns.

“I’m about as okay as someone who’s woken up with Ragnarok being battled out in his head, only to be mocked scaldingly by the woman he loves and then fried alive,” he grumbles, then adds more curses that sound decidedly British and that she’s never heard before.

With the greatest difficulty, she holds more laughter in. “The woman you love, hm? That’s the nicest thing you’ve said to me since last evening before things went south. Perhaps I should burn you alive more often?”

“I take it all back,” he groans, then plonks himself down on a dry bit of the kitchen floor in a manner that reminds her horribly of Drunk!Tom from hours ago.

“I resign,” he announces, wincing but folding his arms in front of his naked, thankfully not burned, chest. There’s that pout again…

“Resign? What on earth is that supposed to mean now?”

“I resign from humaning today. I won’t do anything.”

“‘Humaning’?” she asks, but Tom either doesn’t hear or doesn’t care.

“I’m going to sit here, and do nothing,” he insists, putting his finger on a random spot right next to him.

“Except pouting, you mean.”

He squints up to her now. “Maybe cuddling with my,” he looks her up and down, “half-naked girlfriend.”

“Huh. Interesting.”

Tom stops looking at her and lowers his gaze to the tiles in front of him instead. Then he lets out another tiny groan, and rests his head - slowly, very slowly - against the wall behind him.

She sighs and admits defeat, for now. Going behind the counter again, she pours him another cup of coffee, grabs his untouched glass of water, and two of the little painkillers from the bottle, and carries it all over to Tom, along with a towel.

Tom takes the glass of water greedily and swallows the pills in one go. He takes the coffee from her hand, and puts it gingerly beside him on the floor.

With the towel she cleans a spot right next to Tom, and sits beside him. Putting her head on his shoulder, she gently brushes her hand along his forearm. “Your girlfriend likes to spend the day with you, but would love for you to not be half-dead during your time together.”

“Not half dead. Really, totally, completely and utterly miserably dead.”

She thinks she hears a tiny sniffle-snuffle of a sound, then feels more than hears him sigh. After what feels like an eternity, his arm raises itself inch by inch until it loops around her shoulder. It takes Tom another couple of minutes until his fingers start stroking over her arm softly, and she snuggles in closer.

“Did your brush with death by chance give you any magical skills like in those YA books?” she asks, oddly content to sit here with him and block the world out for a few minutes.

“Huh? Magic?” She waits for one of Tom’s adorkably cocky innuendos, maybe a remark about pelvic sorcery or a certain magic wand he could use in the bedroom–and when it doesn’t come, she knows he really must be feeling worse for wear.

“Yeah. Magic. Because sooner or later I’ll have to get up and clean up the coffee mess, and I really don’t want to.”

“Then you should resign from humaning too.”

She chuckles a bit, but feels Tom stiffen. She rolls her eyes a little, this should be a fun day, if even _she_ can’t move like she wants to.

“Sorry,” she mumbles anyway. “I’m afraid one of us has to be humaning today. I’d like to eat some time this morning.”

She lifts her head from Tom’s shoulder a little and sees how he still breathes deeply, occasionally swallowing. He hasn’t touched the coffee again, probably because using both arms at the same time would throw his body in a frenzy.

“Did you by any chance brush your teeth?”

“Why?” he asks without moving.

“I’d like to kiss you, but not on that mouth from last night.”

“If I have to move for kissing, we’re not doing that today anyway.”

She scoots back a little. “Seriously?”

Tom glances her way, still frowning with a mix of concentration and pain. “Dead serious. Pun intended, hardy-har-har.”

With a huff, she gets up. “Jesus freaking Christ, Hiddleston, I’m beginning to think you’re even worse hungover than drunk. At least you were all frisky and eager last night, even though Little Tommy wouldn’t have done much of a job.”

“Beg your pardon?!” He jerks up, then groans and clings to the coffee cup. “Little Tommy???”

She stifles some sniggering in favour of glaring at him.

“You heard me. And since you’re oh so reluctant to move today, you can sit right there and grow roots for all I care. Now excuse me, I’ve got some adulting to do.” She walks to the kitchen counter and purposely clangs and bangs things, oddly hurt that he won’t even respond to the promise of a kiss.

“Excuse me, could you not…” But she drowns out his whine by placing a plate - a single one, since he’s not going to eat anything anyway - on the counter. Hard.

“Love, my head. Could you not…”

She snorts humourlessly and gets a pan from the cupboard with a little more enthusiasm than necessary. Then places it atop of the oven with a bang.

“Ouch,” she hears Tom whisper. “Could you… I’m trying to apologise here.”

“Not doing a very good job.”

“Well yeah, I can’t see you from the floor,” comes his whiney reply, which she tries hard to not find adorable.

“Get up then.”

“Can’t,” he mumbles, and she actually believes him. Doesn’t change the fact he’s not even trying, though.

“So, just like yesterday then. Nothing got up then.” She knows it’s mean, but she doesn’t care. Instead she gets eggs and bacon from the fridge, shutting it loudly.

“And I apologize for that. Was entirely my fault, I know, but..”

She cuts him off by cracking the eggs as hard against a bowl as if they’ve mortally offended her. “Don’t you DARE give me the ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ apology, Thomas William Hiddleston.”

In the short break of silence while she deals with digging out eggshell pieces because she’s been too forceful, she hears Tom mumble to himself. “Uh-oh, full name. Hiddleston, you really fucked up.”

She would find it funny, especially because he sounds truly alarmed now, but she’s still mad and sad and doesn’t care whether it’s a bit illogical.

So she beats the eggs so fiercely she gets splatters all over the counter and hears more whines.

“Love, please, at least give me a chance to apologize. Or ten minutes until my head stops wanting to burst out of my ears so I can give you the attention you deserve.”

“Oh, I give you ten minutes alright. I give you even more, if you continue to be a whiney child in an old man’s body,” she exclaims, while still beating the eggs, imagining them to be Tom’s head.

“I’m not. I’m suffer…” He cuts himself off this time.

“And there you go again, Hiddleston.” She wonders for a moment if the smell of bacon and eggs will make him puke all over the kitchen floor, but then decides he’d be the one to clean that mess up, and starts heating up the pan.

As she waits for the right temperature, she thinks she can hear Tom humming some kind of song. Is that? Is that really ‘Right here waiting’? She almost gets even angrier, seeing how he attemps to make her laugh. Especially, since she’s afraid it may work.

She’s about to put the first piece of bacon in, when he hears him groan, “Please, don’t do this to me.”

She whirls, spatula held up like a weapon, and has to bite back a giggle at the way Tom flinches–twice, first in fear, then in pain becuase of the first flinch.

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t. Just one…since you probably won’t be able to count farther than that anyway.”

She gives him secret brownie points for sitting a little more upright and scrunching up his face in thought.

“Because you love me?” His tone is so hopeful she feels a little of her defenses crumble.

“Loving someoe doesn’t mean you need to kowtow to their every whim and fancy. I mean, I know someone who claims to love his girlfriend but isn’t willing to brace a bit of pain to kiss her.”

Low blow, and she can see it land when he flinches for the third time.

Tom scratches his beard but seems to regret even that minimal movement. But he does bite back his groan this time.

She checks the bacon, then turns back to him.

“Alright, oh whiney one, last chance. Give me a good reason to stop.”

He clears his throat, sitting up even straighter, and shuffling around a little bit.

“Because, I promise to you with all my poor little heart,” to which she rolls her eyes again, “that if you wait for five, maybe ten minutes, I’ll try to stand up now, walk myself to the bathroom, and brush my teeth.”

She bites back a smile. “And how will that stop me from having breakfast? I’m starving here.”

“Well, while I’m in the bathroom, brushing my teeth - to kiss you afterwards by the way - I maybe also could wash myself a little.” He looks kind of proud of his idea, even with a scrunched up face. “In the meantime you could cook for you. Without me trying not to puke. There. That’s my reason. Just wait until I make it up from this floor.”

“Will I be dead from hunger by that time?”

“Um…” More scrunchy face while he thinks it over, which is funny enough on its own. “I kind of want to say something like ‘what’s a bit of starvation when I’m willing to put myself through hell just so you can have a kiss from me’, but I think that would just ruin my chances forever.”

It’s more and more difficult to hold the grin in. “Very perceptive, Mr. Double First From Cambridge. We’ll just consider you never voiced that thought.”

“Um. Yes. Right. Exactly.” Some time is lost while Tom’s poor brain cells reorganize themselves. More time is lost when he takes an ultra-cautious sip of now-cool coffee and gives the softest whoop of triumph.

By the time he’s taken a bigger sip and is slowly pushing himself to all fours, she’s barely able to cling to her grudge.

“Okay, soldier. Go fight that teeth-brushing war.” She lifts an eyebrow. “And if you come back victorious, we’ll think of a reward.”

“Yes, ma'am,” he salutes, then closes his eyes for a moment. “Oh, goodness, I’ve done that last night as well, haven’t I?” He almost hangs his head in shame.

She clears her throat to stiffle a giggle. “You did.”

He nods his head, then slowly - so very slowly - turns to brace his left hand against the wall. So, he’s not going to crawl back to the bathroom, she wondered about that for a moment there.

But he’s not upright, yet, either.

“Just so you know,” he says, “this mission could take all day. I’m not even sure how to get up.”

“You’ll figure it out,” she smirks.

And he does. Grunting, and puffing, and breathing heavily, he braces himself against the wall, slowly raising until he at least stands on both feet.

“Whoooop!” she mock-cheers, giving him a grin, as Tom glares at her.

He can’t hold in a tiny smile of his own as he shakes his head really, really carefully. “The pain I go through for the woman I love. I don’t now, if I make it back, but I will try. For you, I will try.”

He still hasn’t made a step, yet, and she lifts an eyebrow, before she grins a little and point with the spatula. “Go. Now. Before I have to make myself dinner.”

“Not gonna salute again,” he mutters. “But yeesh, you’re an awfully bossy woman.” Tom takes a step, then groans so loudly she’s half afraid he’s going to puke after all. “Oh for heck’s sake, I said THAT as well, didn’t I?”

This time, she grins more than a little. “Yup. And if you don’t move it now, I’ll rely on the newly discovered magic trick of smacking you on your butt - but this morning I’m armed with a wooden spatula.”

That finally gets Tom moving in jerky, slow-motion robot-like fits and bouts. She hears him mutter under his breath, “First her hand, then a spatula…next she’ll invest in whips and chains or use my own belt against me.”

“Only, if you take it off yourself like you did yesterday,” she giggles after him. She doesn’t even have to shout, he’s still only about six steps away.

He continues on his way and when she finally hears him reach the bathroom she shouts after him, “Oh, and I want to know everything about your mom calling you a ‘naughty boy’ in the middle of the night!”

With his muffled, but loud enough, “What the hell?!” she smirks and turns around, finally, finally starting on the bacon she’s been craving for the past 15 minutes.

And yes, she prepares a plate for him, too. He’s said not to mention food, but this is bacon and eggs on the one side, and Tom Hiddleston on the other. It won’t take much time, before he’s eating again.

She is, however, nibbling on her second stripe of bacon and already digging in the eggs when she hears the bathroom door open again.

Just to get another rise out of him, she calls out, “Happy New Year, Tom!”

This time, the “what the hell?!” is decidedly louder.

She smothers a giggle. “Well, it took you so long it’s already 2018. And I’m afraid I wolfed down all the bacon and eggs because a girl really can’t expect to live on air and kisses alone - especially if the air is polluted and her boyfriend in an anti-kissing mood.”

“You aren’t half as funny as you think you are,” she hears Tom call back from the room, still not in his normal voice but at least not like a reanimated corpse either.

“Look who’s talking, Mr. “small medium at large” joker!” she replies and grins around another mouthful of eggs.

There’s no retort, only the muffled sound of wardrobe doors banging. Some thunks and thuds. A scuffle. A gasp. A not so muffled “fucking shit-brained idiot”.

“Now you’re being a bit too harsh on yourself,” she calls out with a gleeful cackle.

“You. Are. Not. Helping.” In equal measure pouty and pissed off, Tom sounds a bit more energetic–and himself–now.

“What ARE you doing in there?” she shouts, chewing on the last of her breakfast. “You know, you don’t have to actually fight something in there, right?”

“Oh, ha. Ha ha. I’m laughing so hard,” comes the muttered reply, and she isn’t sure, if she was meant to hear it.

Tom comes out of the room and into the kitchen, already a little quicker on his feet, and only looking a little green now, not half-dead anymore.

She has to suppress a sigh. She doesn’t know why, but she finds this outfit of him incredibly sexy. He’s wearing one of his dark sweatpants, and a blue t-shirt from the stack of clothing he always leaves at her place, and that smell like him. Maybe that’s why she finds it so damn sexy. It’s so domestic, and she’s so happy Tom feels comfortable in her flat.

“I almost decapitated myself with one of your bloody high-heels,” he grumbles. “That makes the 100th time I nearly died today.”

She snickers. Actually, she laughs out loud. “Oh, poor you.”

“Well, yeah.” He does look quite pleased with himself, though.

She sighs dramatically, and bats her eyelashes. “My hero! You made it!”

“I did, yeah.” He looks inordinately proud now, even puffs out his chest and straightens-wiggles his shoulders like a preening bird. His blue t-shirt is almost see-through from wearing and washing it a million times, so the movement makes his nipples practically beg for attention.

Suddenly, she’s hungry for something that doesn’t fall under the category ‘breakfast’.

She crooks a finger, trying out a seductive smile that has Tom blinking and swallowing.

“Did you brace the minefield of teeth-brushing, my hero?”

Tom tries a slow nod without looking greener or groaning. Yay for little mercies and painkillers!

“And I washed all the blood and gore off.”

She mock gasps. “Such heroic deeds! Come on over, then, time for your reward.”

For the first time since the previous evening Tom manages a non-loopy-“I am seeing lots of boobs”-smile, that also reaches his eyes. He comes a little closer, but scrunches up his nose when the smell of breakfast hits him.

Pitying him at least a little bit, she sighs, hops off the barstool and meets him halfway in the middle of the room.

She comes up to his jaw without heels, which means standing on her tiptoes, she can touch his lips with hers. Bracing herself a little by putting her hands on Tom’s hips, she does exactly that, standing on the heels of her feet, ghosting a touch against his lips with hers.

“Minty,” she grins as she feels him inhale and exhale slowly.

She realises his breath his probably fresher than hers right now, but he doesn’t seem to mind, since his eyes wander from hers to her lips, before he licks his own, and his eyes go back up again.

“Mint is good,” Tom says. “Better than breakfast smells.” His hands come up to her own hips, firm but gentle, his thumbs possessively digging in a little in that way he has. “Actually, mint has lots health benefits like…”

She stops him with another barely-there butterfly-light brush of her lips on his, then draws back a fraction. “As happy as I am to see those brilliant brain cells of yours trying to work again, right now I need you to shut up and give me a proper kiss.”

“So. Demanding.” With that Tom smirks, leans forward and presses his lips against hers a little more firmly. She can feel him holding back a groan, and tightens her hands in his shirt a little.

With a sigh on her own, she returns the pressure, pushing back a little.

“See,” she says when she lets go for a little moment, “that wasn’t _that_ hard.”

There’s that infuriating smirk again. She’s missed it more than she cares to admit.

“Darling, if that is supposed to be a dirty innuendo, it’s still a bit too early.”

She grins back. “I guess I’ll save my innuendos and…um…other ‘assets’ for later then.”

Nuzzling his chest, she feels Tom lower his chin to the top of her head. They stand like that for a while, just breathing in synch.

“Will you come to bed with me, love?” he asks, and it startles her so much she bumps his chin and hears him hiss and bite back a curse.

“Whoa there, hold your horses, Hiddleston! How did we go from ‘give me more time’ to ‘let me have you now’ so fast?”

He rubs his chin, looking sheepish and frustrated at the same time. “I meant for actuall sleeping. That’s what beds are for, you know?”

“Yeah, I know that, but yesterday you seemed to have a strong aversion against sleeping on anything else than a floor.” She laughs a little at Tom’s attempts to roll his eyes without flinching. He almost manages.

“Well, that’s probably because I sleep well whenever I have you in my arms,” is his cheeky reply.

“Oh, come on!” She slaps one of his hips lightly with her hand.

“Too much?”

“Too much.” That is followed by a sigh. “I have to clean that up, you know?” she says, pointing to the still spilled coffee.

But Tom shakes his head. “It’ll be there later. Now, take me to bed.” He loosens his hold on her, but tugs at her arm a little.

“Now who’s the demanding one?” She wiggles her brows at him.

Tom huffs. “You want me to beg instead?”

She taps her chin mock thoughtfully. “Come to think of it - yes, I do, actually.”

In slow, frowning stages, Tom lowers himself to his knees, and her eyes pop wide open. He sways a bit, then claps his hands in front of his chest.

“Oh cruel mistress of the castle, who is such a beguiling combination of fair beauty and stone-cold heart. Your knight in not so shining armour has returned victorious from his last siege and is in need of a little tender, loving care. I beseech you, your grace, bestow a smidgeon of kindness on me.”

She nearly doubles over in laughter, though his puppy dog face tugs at her heart strings. For the second time, Tom catches her completely by surprise when he leans forward and buries his face against her belly, the beard just the right amount of scruffy like this. Against her body, he mumbles, “Please, love?”

She has to hold in a whimper from the cuteness she experiences. He knows exactly what he’s doing. That bastard.

She clears her throat before answering, a little afraid that the only voices she’s able to make are ohs and aws. “Well, my knight,” she begins, and Tom looks up at her, resting his chin against her belly now. She can’t help but smile, and shakes her head a little. “You did come home victorious, and indeed I’ve already paid you a price, a lovely, humble kiss. But I feel in me the urge to lie down as well. I’d be honoured if you could accompany me. I’m not sure what dangers are lurking ahead,” she whispers the last part dramatically.

Tom nods his head once, a triumphant smile on his face. Then he looks around, before locking eyes with her again. “Help me up?”

This time she laughs out loud, gripping his hands, and hoisting him up with (just a little) help from him.

She starts making her way ahead of him, but is tucked back by Tom, who doesn’t let go of her hand.

They stand together, her back against his chest, his arm curled around her shoulders, holding on to her hand.

She feels him kiss the top of her head, mumbling, “I do love you, you know.”

“I know”, she mumbles back.

Tom nuzzles a bit, something he usually does all the time.

“Do you still love me too?”

She squeezes his hand. “Of course I do. It takes more than one drunk night to make me give up on you, you big adorkable doofus. But…” She wiggles free of his embrace and tugs on his hand. “Loving you doesn’t mean I can’t hold a rightful grudge for a bit. So I expect a lot more groveling and persuading before you’re on my good side again.”

This time, Tom lets her pull him towards the bedroom. “I think all of your sides are really good sides.”

She scoffs, but the happy smile just won’t go away. “Smooth. Real smooth, Hiddleston. I see you didn’t leave all your charm in the whiskey bottle…or in the toilet bowl, for that matter.”

“Ugh, don’t mention whiskey. Or the toilet bowl,” he groans. “And I’m always smooth.”

“Not when you’re drunk and staring at my boobs, you’re not,” she smirks as they reach the bed, and she lets go of his hand to get in on her side. “I’d appreciate it if you could actually lie beside me this time, instead of half a meter down there.”

He huffs as he climbs in next to her. “You usually love it when I’m down there.”

“Careful, Hiddleston.”

“What? A man’s got to practice his innuendos when his woman is as mercilessly demanding as you.”

“Are you hiding a submissive side, Tom?”

He’s scooting closer to spoon her but stops cold, a look of utter confusion on his face. “Am I what now?”

She giggles, grabs his arm and tugs it firmly around her waist. “You keep calling me bossy and demanding. Are you dropping elephant-sized hints that you want me to lead you around on a leash and feed you dog biscuits?”

“Christ, woman.” She can feel him shudder before he chuckles. “A kinky fucker I may be, but I’ll take porridge over dog biscuits any day, thank you very much.”

He presses closer, curving his strong, long body around hers and nuzzling her hair again. “Besides, if I wanted to try something new in the bedroom, I wouldn’t be dropping hints like that. Rest assured, I know what I want and how to get it.”

Oh dear, his voice is doing that thing where it goes all deep and low. Thank you, painkillers! But she wants to let him struggle some more. “Not last night you didn’t,” she scoffs.

“Just you wait until I’m fully recovered.” He swats her, but has about the strength of a new-born.

She chuckles. “Promises, promises.” She holds on to his arm around her waist, so his hand is resting near her chest, and presses herself against him.

He sighs behind her, breathing deeply. “And I know how to keep them,” he mumbles.

“Ha! You promised to seduce me - or wait, you said, to ‘make me hot’ - and not fall asleep on me yesterday. That didn’t work out so well.”

She feels him flinch behind her. “But then again, we were lying on the kitchen floor by then,” she continues.

His thumb caresses her breast a little bit, before Tom speaks up again. “You will never let me forget that, right?” His voice drops even lower, but she’s sure it’s due to the tiredness in it.

“Not until you’ll do something equally embarrassing,” she mumbles back, enjoying the feeling of snuggling with him.

“You just like it entirely too much when I blush and squirm and cringe my way to hell.” Tom sounds sleepy and accusing at the same time.

She grins to herself and tries to ignore the teasing brushing of his thumb. “Can’t argue with that. Then again, you like it entirely too much to apologize for every damn thing under the sun.”

The tired half-chuckle fans his breath across the nape of her neck before he presses a soft kiss there. “Quiet now, I need some shut-eye so I can make you squirm and blush later–and I don’t mean with embarrassment.”

 “You sure you’re already up to that then, soldier?” she asks, patting behind her and giving him a slap on the but underneath the sheets.

“I’m always up to…” She’s just taken a breath to reply, when Tom continues, “I know what you’re going to say. I’m usually always up to that. Maybe I wasn’t _fully_ capable yesterday,” he sighs, and she chuckles at the desperate tone in his voice. “And now hush.”

“Uuuuuuh, more on the dominant side, then,” she teases.

“Woman!”

“Sorry,” she giggles, getting comfortable against him again. “Sorry.” She can’t help her giggles surface, though, making her body shake.

“Now who’s apologizing?” Tom taunts, tightening his grip so she stops jostling them.

“Now who’s not hushing up?” she retorts, suppressing fresh giggles.

“Speaking of hushing…I know a dozen ways with which to make you shut up. But I’ll have to save all twelve of them for the future. And mark my words, I _will_ use them.” His voice is all scratchy-growly now, partly from sleepiness and partly with the tease.

All of its own accord, her body starts shifting, seeking a bit of friction, a bit more touch, a bit more of that growly voice.

With an annoyed grunt and a muttered “oh for the love of tea and biscuits, enough is enough”, Tom uses his size and strength to his advantage. Before she knows it, she’s lying more on her stomach than her side, one of Tom’s arms beneath her with his fingers splayed over her tummy, one of his legs thrown over her hip and thighs to keep her in place.

“Nap. Now.”

“Oomph,” is all she manages, being rather pressed into the mattress.

The weight of Tom’s body on top of her doesn’t really help the situation, and again she tries to wiggle a bit to feel the much needed friction.

She also feels something else against her backside. “Huh,” she smirks. “I thought you wanted to nap?” It’s not easy, but she manages to push her behind up, at least a little bit.

And enough, obviously, since it’s making Tom groan in her neck.

She knows she’s mean, and he really wants to sleep, but they do have all day for that. It’s not often she gets to tease him, he’s kind of perfect most of the time (okay, he isn’t, his clothes are often littered all over her floor, but even that’s kind of perfect).

“You’re going to be the death of me,” he growls into her neck now, biting the spot he kissed before softly.

She sighs and shudders. “Well, you’re not helping.”

“You know I can’t resist you. Any thoughts of helping scamper out the back door when you tempt me like that, you minx.”

Mhm, yes, now his voice is even huskier. Definitely fighting a losing battle here. Still shivering from his teeth on that sensitive spot, she parts her legs the teeniest bit–but of course her smart mouth just can’t seem to shut up.

“Well, you did a mighty fine job of resisting temptation last night.”

Tom’s thigh slips between her legs, parting them a little further.

“Are you going to bring that up until I’m 90 years old, woman?”

“M-maybe.” It comes out as a breathy stutter because the fingers on her belly have begun creeping lower.

“Hmm,” he sighs in her ear. “Does that mean you’re still with me when I’m 90?” His fingers reach the line of her panties, not slipping inside but teasing the soft skin.

Her breathing stutters and all she manages is a whimpered, “Mhm.”

“Didn’t hear you, love.” His hand stops moving, but he’s pressing himself against her now. “What was that?”

“Yeah. Yes.” He seems to like that answer since his breathing falters as well, while something else does the opposite.

She wiggles a bit until she gets one hand free and pats behind her, reaching for Tom’s sweatpants.

It brushes against a sliver of bare belly instead, with the soft few hairs of his happy trail.

Tom sucks in a breath and goes still. While gliding her fingertips over his abs to reach his pants, she desperately thinks of something that will make him move his fingers where she wants–no, needs–them. God, why is it so difficult to think? It’s as if she’s the one drunk now. On him, his nearness, the way her body always responds to his and his body to hers.

“You sure you still want to be with me when I’m ugly, wrinkly, toothless and stooped?” she asks. Great, very sexy. Trust her to ruin the moment.

But Tom doesn’t seem to mind. His fingers are still immobile but his hip is making tiny bucking-rubbing motions against her that are driving her insane.

“I think I’ll always find you beautiful, love.”

“Show me, then. Show me how beautiful you think I am.”

Tom STILL doesn’t move, at least not where she wants him to. Instead he breathes heavily down her neck, nuzzling the side of her face, biting her jaw.

Well, if he doesn’t start, it seems like she has to. So, she lets her finger wander, reaching inside his sweatpants. Of course, he doesn’t wear anything underneath. She almost wants to roll her eyes at it, but can’t find it in herself to care at the moment.

Instead she reaches her destination, and feels Tom’s hiss on her cheek. “To-hom.” Yes, it’s her who’s whiney now.

She tries to grab him, and lean into his hand at the same time. “Move. Please.”

It’s the ‘please’ that seems to work, as Tom lets his fingers wander, still breathing hard and the movements a little hastened.

She gulps and jerks for a moment, before continuing on her path.

“Look who’s begging now,” he rasps, brushing his bearded chin over her shoulder blades, then laving the tender spots with his tongue. “Getting desperate after insulting me for so long, love?”

With a sound of pure frustration, she bucks into his hands, his fingers sliding lower and discovering just how needy she is.

“I’ll show… you… despearate,” she pants out between suppressed moans, finally getting her fingers around him and squeezing.

“Fuck.” On a low hiss, Tom goes still again, and she wants to sob and beg for more.

“Ugh. Touch. Me. Now,” she grits out. She almost starts crying when Tom removes his fingers from her. “What…”

“Shh,” he interrupts her, jerking a little in her hand. In the next moment - she doesn’t know how - he has her panties removed enough to give him access to her.

She gulps, and moans. “Nightstand. Condom. Now.”

She lets go if him as he moves, brushing himself against her while reaching into the drawer, searching around hastily, which makes her giggle again.

“Planning on searching until we really are 90?” she asks, impatience miraculously bringing back the snark.

All that gets her is Tom even stopping the lovely bit of friction and bringing his teeth back down on the nape of her neck. He nips none too gently. “Patience is a virtue.”

“One I clearly don’t possess,” she whines. The sting on her skin just makes her all the wetter and even more desperate. She slides a hand down her belly, struggling to keep her balance and find her folds in this awkward position. When she does, she gasps simultaneously with Tom.

“Fucking hell, that’s hot,” he growls.

The rooting around in the drawer becomes even more frantic. She barely registeres two thuds as Tom throws other stuff onto the floor, and then he whoops when his hand finally emerges with a condom.

She feels him getting rid of his sweatpants and putting on the condom. His hand brushes hers away impatiently, the whispered “Hold on” barely registers in her mind.

What she does feel is Tom’s second hand holding on to hers, and after he’s positioned himself, both of his hands claiming both of hers.

After he enters all becomes a blur. Teeth nipping on skin, fingers clenching, moaning, hissing, and sighing.

They move together until they stop. Holding on to each other, they stutter almost simultaneously, her a little earlier than him.

Sweating, they breathe heavily, but in synchronization. Until she starts giggling again.

“Are you…are you _giggling_?” Despite his panting, she can hear his confusion, his voice rising on the last word. “I swear to god, if you spout a snarky comment about my performance, I’ll most definitely not grow old and wrinkly with you.”

She wants to clamp a hand over her mouth but their fingers are still entwined and she’s also too lazy to really make an effort an move. Tom’s weight is just the right kind of heavy on her…for another minute or so.

“I’m not, I swear.” She sucks in a breath, really tries to compose herself. ”It’s just…that was the most exhausting nap I’ve ever taken.”

There’s a moment of utter silence, and then Tom guffaws so hard he rolls off her and promptly falls out of the bed with a soft yelp–ending up where it all started: on the floor.


End file.
